


When Evening Falls

by Lillian_Shepherd



Series: Falling [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Phase 1 MCU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-06 23:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4240821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Shepherd/pseuds/Lillian_Shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony said, consideringly, "I'm pretty sure that Peggy's dead, otherwise SHIELD wouldn't have tried to convince you she wasn't. The funeral parlour's records seem to be untampered with and the gravestone was slightly weathered, the grave undisturbed. There's no way SHIELD could have arranged that in a few hours, though I've sent scans to Jarvis to conduct verification checks. I think that, yes, Peggy Carter is buried here, but that just creates a new problem."</p><p>"What Peggy was doing here in the first place?" Steve asked, putting his hovering doubts into words. "The woman I knew wouldn't have wanted to live in a place like this, even if she could afford it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Follows directly on from the last scene in 'But These Are All Lies." Possibly you might like to read the rest of the series first.

_When evening falls so hard_  
_I will comfort you,_  
_I'll take your part._  
Paul Simon: Bridge Over Troubled Water.

 

The falling sun laid a path of dazzling light across the lake, throwing the mountain peaks into black silhouettes and swathing the forest covered hills in shadow, hiding all traces of man's presence even from Steve's serum-enhanced vision; the extensive villas, the boathouses, the marina, the expensive retirement homes and the discreetly luxurious hotels were all invisible, isolating him on the deserted terrace.

The most luxurious of those hotels was directly behind him, had supplied the fine cognac in the balloon glass he was cradling, not to mention Tony's whisky in the cut-glass tumbler that sat on the stone balustrade a few inches from his right hand. The hotel was where Tony was right now, arranging for their evening meal to be delivered to their rooms ... suite? Even that word was inadequate, as Tony had taken possession of the whole top floor. At least at this time of year the hotel hadn't had to eject anyone else to accommodate them.

The hotel itself was disconcerting; at once what a few months ago in his own timeline had been a familiar if slightly dated style and at the same time disturbingly changed.

Tony, he suspected, had chosen it because it would seem familiar to him but instead it made him uncomfortable.

He'd never stayed anywhere so expensive before, though he'd visited Howard's suite in Claridges (and perhaps Stark Industries still kept that, though God only knew how much it cost nowadays) and had become used to the luxury of Stark (or the Avengers) Tower.

But today, in particular, felt like a bad dream, which had culminated in the nightmare that was seeing Peggy's name on a headstone, but hadn't ended there. Maybe he _was_ dreaming this, deep below the Arctic Ocean. Except he had no memory of dreaming there and Bucky, Peggy, Howard, Dum-Dum... all of his people... would all still be dead. Nor would the Avengers exist.

Well, at least then he wouldn't have to face the fact that he was on a team with a Norse god, Steve decided wryly. Call Thor Odinson an alien if you liked, but he had intrinsic powers beyond that of any human, was able to command the storm, wielded a hammer called 'Mjolnir', had a father called Odin, a mother called Frigga, an (adopted) brother called Loki and was, apparently, over a thousand years old, yet still considered himself young and relatively untried.

It disturbed Steve that he had far more personal evidence that the Norse gods existed than he had of the reality of Jehovah, Jesus or the Virgin Mary.

He sipped at the brandy, hoping it would burn away his doubts, or at least convince him of his own reality, here in this millionaires' playground, where a 'hunting shack' had ten bedrooms, and the town five miles away, hidden in the river valley, had been built solely to service it.

He was desperately out of place here; a soldier, a super-hero (whatever that phrase might mean) who had never been rich, never been anything but struggling to survive, whether in Twenties and Thirties Brooklyn or in war-torn Europe.

A hand reached past him to pick up the whisky glass, and a warm body settled besides him, a brush of shoulder and arm that sent familiar heat coiling in stomach and groin.

Tony.

And that was the paradox, because Tony was as real a person as he'd ever met; frighteningly intelligent, with a razor sharp wit and as many prickles as a porcupine, a reckless courage that made his continued survival miraculous, the arrogance and pragmatism he projected real enough, despite the way he used them to shield his idealism and compassion, just as he used his charm to conceal his ruthlessness.

Because of SHIELD (and Loki) they had gotten off on the wrong foot – Steve felt incredibly lucky to have been allowed a second chance to get to know the real Tony. It was a friendship he depended on too much to jeopardise.

And, in a moment of shock and weakness, he had asked Tony to stay with him tonight, putting that friendship at risk. The other man had agreed so readily he could have no idea of the hidden urges that prompted it.

He had been silent too long. Tony's hand gripped his bicep, and Steve did not resist the pull which brought them face to face. And Tony's face was too close. His eyes, darker than the shadows beyond the lake, only a few inches from Steve's own, were shrewd and assessing, the eyebrows above them drawn together and high forehead lined in a frown. "Steve? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great."

An eyebrow went up in scepticism, though Tony neither spoke nor relinquished his grip on Steve's arm, just held his gaze. He was so close Steve could feel the brush of breath against his skin.

It was frighteningly erotic. Steve wanted to run, though he was not sure his knees would hold him, so he gritted his teeth and refused to take even a single step backwards.

Compelled to find an answer, he grabbed for Tony's own favourite tactic: diversion. "I'm just... just a bit down, I guess. Worried. And puzzled."

"Still not convinced that Peggy's dead? Or not convinced that she's buried here?"

 _Is he reading my mind?_ Steve thought. Then, _God, he'd better not be._

"Well, Tony, what do you think?"

Tony said, consideringly, "I'm pretty sure that Peggy's dead, otherwise SHIELD wouldn't have tried to convince you she wasn't. The funeral parlour's records seem to be untampered with and the gravestone was slightly weathered, the grave undisturbed. There's no way SHIELD could have arranged that in a few hours, though I've sent scans to Jarvis to conduct verification checks. I think that, yes, Peggy Carter is buried here, but that just creates a new problem."

"What Peggy was doing here in the first place?" Steve asked, putting his hovering doubts into words. "The woman I knew wouldn't have wanted to live in a place like this, even if she could afford it."

"She could have been on vacation."

"But then she wouldn't have been buried here."

Tony nodded. "We know she had family. And, though Dad was dead by then, Stark Industries would have helped financially if necessary. He'd created a trust for the survivors of the wartime SSR who were in need." The dark eyes blinked. "You know, I never thought of it before, but I guess that's all yours now, because you're the only one left. I'll get the lawyers to look into it.

"I don't want—"

"No choice." Tony's frown lifted in a sudden grin. "I have no control whatsoever over that Trust and the rules under which it operates. If and when legal lets you have access, you can buy me a burger. Meanwhile, we're eating in private and more upmarket. Come on in. We've just got time to shower and change before dinner."

 

Steve rubbed a towel over his hair, grateful for the new cut that required little further attention, and then considered the limited amount of clothing he had brought with him, laid out on the bed. He wasn't going to wear the same black suit he'd worn to the cemetery and, while he was sure Tony wouldn't even blink if he wandered in wearing running gear, after the emotions that had almost overwhelmed him a couple of hours ago he wanted to insert some formality between them.

Yeah, like heck he did.

Okay, he _needed_ to insert some formality.

For a moment he wished for the familiarity of the clothes SHIELD had provided for him, but he had realised, even before he moved into the Tower, that the contrast between his apparent age and the outdated look had made him far too noticeable. He didn't need to be asked again if he was from some sort of fundamentalist religious community. So he'd left them in his SHIELD apartment, together with the uniform they'd given him.

Tony had designed a new one, with better armour yet more flexible, and not so anachronistic, in a style he much preferred. It was in his suitcase now and, no, he wasn't going to wear that to dinner or even take it with him. The shield, though, that was different. He needed that within reach.

He glanced at his watch then, with a shrug, selected charcoal grey pants and a cream cotton shirt. They would have to do.

 

The drapes were drawn away from the big windows in the living room in Tony's suite revealing a star specked sky and a lamp speckled shoreline. Two pairs of red and green navigation lights were bobbing out on the lake.

The wind must be rising.

The room itself was lit by what might or might not be Tiffany lamps, while on the dining table itself, which Tony seemed to be in the process of rearranging, candlelight glittered on silver and cut glass, flared off the white linen and china.

Looking at Tony's black suit and scarlet silk shirt, Steve felt underdressed again, but then the other man looked up and smiled, and none of it mattered.

"They offered us a butler," he said, "but I didn't think you wanted anyone hovering." He straightened, looking at the rearranged table with satisfaction. "That's better. No point of peering at each other over condiments and candelabra and flower arrangements."

 

It felt strangely intimate, just the two of them, sitting with only the table corner between them; strange because he, like all the other residents of the Towe, occasionally took food down to eat with Tony, or Bruce, before Betty had joined him. Perhaps it was because there was no voice of Jarvis to make a third in the conversation.

Tony, though, could talk enough for three, and Steve let the familiar monologue wash over him as he concentrated on food which was sophisticated but plentiful. Though the serum had speeded up his metabolism, it had also made it more efficient, so that he could go for long periods without eating, but with a consequent need to refuel by consuming large amounts of high protein and high calorie food.

Tony, of course, knew all this and had apparently taken it into account when ordering the meal.

Which, now he came to think about it, was unusually thoughtful of him.

There was good wine, though Steve noticed – because he worried a little about the amount Tony drank – that his companion was sampling both it and the food in moderation, almost abstinence for him.

And his babble was just that, not touching on their reason for being here or their earlier conversation, for which Steve was grateful. It was pleasant to close his eyes and simply listen to the light, expressive tones without trying to make sense of the words.

Only when he did that, when he dropped his guard, the faces from his dreams, his nightmares, came dancing across his vision: ghostly, old, bloody, white-eyed, accusing...

Then Tony's hands closed around his as they lay on the table, strong and warm and calloused – workman's hands that no expensive manicure could disguise.

It was a touch that sent the ghosts back into the darkness.

"You have every excuse to brood," Tony was saying. "None of us can replace those you lost, but you do have friends, Steve. So talk to me, huh? You haven't forgotten how to talk, right? No Loki-style gag?" 

Though Steve was trying to ignore the sense of the words, he couldn't stop his lips twitching at that.

"I can't believe this strong silent type shtick. A New Yorker? Irish American? Never kissed the Blarney Stone while you were in Europe?"

Steve's eyes flew open. "I was never in Ireland. The Republic was neutral in the war, Tony," he said sharply, then, seeing the other man's grin. "But you knew that."

"I knew that." Tony was leaning forward, forearms on the table, eyes intent on Steve's face.

Steve's breath caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to look away, unable to speak, damn near unable to think...

The flattened notes of an unknown (to Steve) melody from a cell phone promptly broke the mood, whatever the mood had been.

Tony started. "Jarvis," he said, letting go of Steve with his left hand and reaching into an inside pocket. "Everyone else is going to voicemail." His fingers flew over the screen without a glance at the icons, then he laid the cell on the table and said, "Yes, Jarvis? You got something for us?"

"Yes, sir. I have analysed your scans of the funeral parlour documentation, the gravestone and the vegetation around it. I can find no trace of amendment of the documentation or of any interference with the grave or the gravestone."

"Thanks, Jay."

"I have also overstepped my brief in one thing, sir. Despite your instructions not to enquire into Ms Carter's past, I ventured to look for her death certificate. May I say that I have located records in both the United States and the United Kingdom, and the date of death is consistent with that in local records and on her tombstone."

"What?" Steve looked at Tony in surprise. "Why would you stop him checking on Peggy's past?

"You asked me not to set him looking for data on her," Tony pointed out. "And Bruce persuaded me not to risk it. I didn't want to lose your trust. That's why I went through Natasha."

Steve had almost forgotten. That Tony had not was something he was going to have to consider later. Now, though, there were more urgent questions. "Jarvis, what was the cause of death?" he asked.

"Drowning, Captain."

Steve had not expected that answer. "What? How did that happen?" 

"I'm afraid that information is not recorded in the official records."

"But you can find it?"

"If it is on computer or somewhere with paper records and public researchers I can commission, then yes, Captain."

Steve looked suspiciously at Tony. "If it is on computer," he repeated. "Would you need to ... hack? ... SHIELD's computers again?"

Tony hesitated, though Steve suspected it was only to phrase the reply so that he would understand it. "I left myself a way into the helicarrier's computers."

"They detected you last time," Steve pointed out.

"And they will this. After a while."

"No, Tony. It's not worth it." He saw Tony's face fall, and added, "Not just to satisfy my curiosity. Save it for a real emergency."

There was something shuttered in Tony's expression. "Emergency. Right. You finished eating?"

Steve nodded. Tony pulled him to his feet. "Then we'll let Room Service bring us coffee and clear away the debris."

 

Steve wandered round the room, unable to settle, as Tony called room service, then pressed the control that set screens sliding across the dining alcove, so the work could go ahead out of their sight. 

It irritated Steve, though he could not have said why. He was tight with tension, wanting to hit something or, at least, work out for hours. The hotel possessed a fully equipped gym and, count them, three pools, but all were now closed for the night. No doubt Tony could have them opened for him, but he had no intention of letting him trouble the hotel staff.

He didn't like the way Tony took the privileges of great wealth for granted – but, of course, he had been born to the life, didn't know anything else.

Which isolated Tony almost as effectively as time had isolated him.

It also isolated them from each other.

Could they ever bridge that gap of culture and experience?

Sitting down seemed to be committing himself to staying here in Tony's suite – and he didn't even dare look at the bedroom door, or at Tony, though he was uncannily aware of the other man's exact position.

Which was now right in front of him. In his moment's hesitation before turning aside, Tony had taken the opportunity to grasp his arms and hold him still.

"Steve? What's bugging you?"

The one thing he couldn't tell him.

"You don't have to be here," Tony continued. Then, when Steve didn't answer: "Steve, I know you said you needed company, but I won't be offended if you go back to your own suite."

Steve didn't think he could make it back to his own bedroom, believed the only thing keeping him on his feet was Tony's grip, though it was that that was softening his muscles, melting his bones.

It took all his willpower to shake his head.

"C'mere." Tony pulled Steve forward and wrapped his arms around him, and there seemed nothing for Steve to do but return the favour, resting his head on Tony's shoulder.

The music had changed to something soft, rhythmical. As they swayed softly in time to it, Steve could almost imagine they were dancing. Which would have been fine if it wasn't for the effect Tony's closeness was having on him. 

"Tony," he said reluctantly. "If you aren't trying to seduce me, I think you'd better back off a tad."

Tony stilled, but his grip on Steve did not slacken. "And if I am?"

_And if he was?_

_He was?_

_Don't let this opportunity go!_

"No objection," Steve whispered. "None at all – but you might be disappointed. I'm not ... experienced. I've never even kissed another man."

"Well, that can be remedied right now." A hand cupped Steve's chin, lifting his head and pulling him up without any resistance. Then Tony's mouth was on his, soft and undemanding, until Steve began to kiss him back, at which point it became the exact opposite.

Steve couldn't imagine why he'd tried to avoid this. He slid his hands down the curves of Tony's back, found his ass, and lifted him a little, fitting their groins together, letting his arousal speak for him. And, oh, God, Tony was just as hard, just as aroused.

It was Tony who broke the kiss. "Steve. No, Steve, slow down and listen to me, okay."

Steve dropped Tony abruptly and tried to turn away, but Tony blocked his path. "Idiot," he scolded. "I didn't say 'stop', I said, 'slow down', just after I said I wanted to seduce you. But.. I just... I just want... need... to make it clear... So you can back out if you want with no consequences. I'm gonna stay with you whether you have sex with me or not. If you'd rather just sit and watch TV, or cuddle on the sofa or even in bed, that's great. Just so you know you don't have to pay anything for my company tonight. Or any other night, come to that."

"Is that what you think of me?" Steve's voice was low, on the edge of anger.

"No! No, it's just... well, if I'd believed this was even possible I wouldn't have been caught without condoms or lube. I had no idea you were bi. I'm not inexperienced, but it's been a while. And I want this to be good for you." 

"So this seduction is a spur of the moment thing," Steve said, wondering if, in that case, he should, indeed, back out.

"God, no. Or yes, but that was only because you asked me to spend the night with you."

"Thank god one of us did. Now you've been the responsible adult, why not get on with it?"

"So romantic," Tony said, with a grin, but his eyes never left Steve's, dark and enigmatic. "Come to bed with me, Captain Rogers?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Mr Stark."

 

Steve woke suddenly, gasping for breath. But there was no pain, and instead of patched sheets or thin and scratchy blankets, he was lying on material so smooth it was like a caress on his skin.

For a moment he was totally disoriented. This wasn't his own tiny apartment, or army barra—

But it was just a dream. Not a flashback but an ordinary nightmare.

And this was an upmarket hotel in the twenty-first century, in a bed that smelt of sex, and that was Tony sleeping beside him.

The one really good thing about waking up in this time and place. Except, it was one more complication, one more thing that he was almost certainly going to lose.

Steve slid out of bed and padded to the window.

It was deep into the night now, and the lake was masked by a thick layer of mist, no longer reflecting the stars or the thin moon that had risen above the mountains. It dimmed the lights of the houses and hotels, and the navigation lights were completely lost. The lake might have swallowed them.

As it had swallowed Peggy.

 _Forgive me, Peggy. I didn't mean to leave you._

But the terrible thing was that he had forgotten about her in Tony's arms, forgotten everything but a new and probably fleeting joy. Perhaps that was what he deserved.

There was a new, bright white light reflected in the glass and the mist, coming towards him. The footsteps were so soft on the thick carpet that only his super-soldier hearing let him detect them, or the moment they stopped.

The light cut off abruptly. He felt the scratch of Tony's beard against his neck, the press of his body against his back as his arms slid around his waist, the softness of his genitals against his thighs...

His own dick jerked in response.

"Steve, what's wrong?" Tony asked. "When I woke up and you'd gone, I was scared you'd lef— you'd decided sex with me was a mistake."

"Maybe it was..."

Steve heard Tony's intake of breath, felt it against his back. "That came out wrong," he said quickly. "I don't regret you... I can't... but today I stood beside Peggy's grave, and realised everyone I knew was gone. I hoped you'd help me forget the grief. I didn't realise you'd drive everything except you out of my head."

"I'm not sorry for that," Tony said.

"Nor am I. But it's a helluva selfish way to grieve for Peggy. And to take advantage of your kindness."

"I'm not kind," Tony sounded offended.

"Yes, you are. You took me and Bruce in out of kindness."

"No I didn't. And I don't sleep with anyone out of kindness. If anyone took advantage it was me. I've been trying to keep my hands off you for months."

Steve took a sharp breath. "Tony, don't joke. Not about this."

"Not a joke." Tony kissed the back of his neck

And it wasn't, Steve realised. God, he'd been slow. Middle of the night slow. One of the first things Tony had said to him, back on the night when Jarvis had called him to the Tower to stop his creator drinking himself to death – and incidentally changed Steve's own life – was that _everyone left._ There had been a whole list of names, some of which were still unknown to him.

_He thought I'd left him. That I'm bound to leave him. And that means he doesn't want me to._

Steve's hands dropped to close on Tony's, partly to reassure him, partly to stop him finding out how arousing he found that thought. "I'm not a one night stand type," he said, wishing he could see the reflection of Tony's face in the window. "I know you used to be. And that trying to be again didn't seem to work for you."

"Oh, god," Tony said. His face, pressed into Steve's neck, was getting warmer. And his dick was now pressing hard – very hard – into the cleft of Steve's buttocks.

Steve shifted slightly to allow him greater access, and Tony's grip tightened reflexively even as he shoved upwards, the head of his cock pushing against Steve's balls. Steve gasped and, unable to contain his reaction, flung his head back as Tony nipped at his throat.

Somehow or other, Steve hung onto control, just as he hung onto Tony's hands, not allowing them to twist loose. "Perhaps it was your choice of company. Not particularly classy, Stark."

He thought Tony wasn't going to answer. Then, "You seemed okay with it," he said at last, and he seemed genuinely shocked.

"I didn't..." Steve gasped, "have the right... to be angry... or jealous.... then...."

"Oh." Tony's voice was little more than a whisper. Then, surprisingly, he laughed. "But you were, weren't you?" He thrust upwards, rubbing pre-cum against the inside of Steve's thighs. "Good, because now I can feel a little better about being insanely jealous of a woman who's been dead for fifteen years."

Not willing to face the implications of that, though the words kept repeating themselves in his head, Steve released Tony's hands and closed his thighs, gripping the hard heat between them. Strong fingers encircled his own cock, just tightly enough, perfectly enough, moving with exquisite skill in time to Tony's thrusts.

Steve leaned forward, palms flat against the window, because his legs were trembling, the strength in muscle and bone melting away. He bit his bottom lip, staring out into the night because if he concentrated on the sensations roiling through his groin he wouldn't be able to stand, wouldn't...

And there was the bright white light of the ARC reactor, reflected in the window, just...

But it was... moving... moving away...

"Come on, come with me, babe," Tony whispered in his ear, as he quickened the rhythm.

And then everything was lost in orgasm.

 

Sitting below the window, practically in Tony's lap with his new lover's arms once again wrapped tightly around him, Steve would have been happy never to move again, but...

_What had been happening out there?_

"I need to go take a look outside," he told Tony, making a half- hearted attempt to extricate himself.

"What?" Tony sounded half-asleep already. 

"There was something outside – above the lake – a moving light. It looked like it was heading for—" He paused as realisation hit him. "It looked like it was heading for the cemetery."

"The one where Margaret Carter is buried?"

"Yeah."

Tony groaned and heaved himself to his feet. "Okay. A quick shower, then we'll go look."


	2. Chapter 2

Iron Man hovered in the air above the mist that lay over the cemetery, the tops of the monuments standing like rocks in a white lake. Captain America stood on his right boot, an arm around his shoulders, feeling slightly light headed.

It was by no means the first time they had travelled in this way, but this was the first time Steve had had time to savour it. He loved flying with Tony, not just because of the exhilaration of speed and danger, but because of being close to him, reliant on his amazing technology. He had always found it faintly erotic, so what had happened tonight perhaps shouldn't have surprised him.

Yet it had. Much as he enjoyed the flight, he would still rather be back at the hotel and in bed with him.

Damn his own curiosity.

Tony's voice said, in his earbud: "According to the armour's infra-red scans there's no life in the cemetery larger than a chipmunk."

"And Peggy's grave?"

"Undisturbed," Tony replied. "I'm disappointed in your super soldier vision – I was expecting at least a built-in infra-red night sight."

"If it had, Bucky would have been so jealous."

"He was your sniper." Tony's voice was almost as flat as when it came through the Iron Man filters.

"Yes," Steve said shortly. There had been no condemnation in Tony's comment, but no approval either.

_We were at war. None of us could afford to be squeamish about long distance killing. Tony himself built weapons... but he doesn't kill unless it's absolutely necessary... not now._

"Looks like there's nothing here," Tony said. 

Steve himself was beginning to have doubts. "I'm sorry. Guess I jumped to conclusions."

"Maybe whatever you saw passed over here," Tony suggested. "Should we get Jarvis to try to locate it?"

Steve opened his mouth to say, "No, let's go back to the hotel," but duty turned it into, "I guess that wouldn't do any harm."

There was a moment's silence, time enough for Steve to mentally cross his fingers, then the reply came, "Nothing. Guess it's a wash," and he didn't know whether he was relieved or annoyed.

"My fault," he admitted instead. "Not sure how I'll make it up to you."

"Oh, I'll think of something," Tony assured him, and Steve could hear the amusement in his voice. "But, y'know, red-white-and-blue, there are still the security cameras. We could just have gotten here too late." 

"They have security cameras in a cemetery?" Steve was horrified. "Surely we haven't been reduced to grave robbery in this century?"

"Not in the Burke and Hare sense," Tony replied, "but people have been buried with jewellery and expensive guitars and even Cadillacs – oh, and stealing flowers used to be a thing, I think."

Steve stared resolutely ahead, biting his lip in an attempt not to respond.

"You're rolling your eyes, aren't you?" Tony said. Then, "Let's go and find if our celebrity as superheroes, or at least yours as the symbol of American rectitude, will get us access to the footage. Otherwise I may have to get Jarvis to hack it."

 

On the surface, the complex of buildings behind the chapel appeared deserted. So, instead, Tony flew them to the ornate wrought-iron entrance gates, now closed, through which they had entered earlier in the day. These were now like something out of a Dracula movie, the spotlights that that would normally have thrown the black-and-gold into sharp relief reduced to tiny clouded suns behind the billows of fog. As they landed neatly in the road just outside the gatehouse, close enough to be in – slightly misted - view of anyone inside, they could see the windows were softly lit.

Surprisingly, no one emerged to question them.

"There are people in there," Tony said, after a short pause. "Jarvis is picking up life signs."

Steve stepped up to the door and knocked. When that didn't work, he rapped hard on the metal shutters protecting the gatehouse's interrogation hatch.

There was no response.

"Either the guys in there are watching hot porn or something's wrong," Tony said. "Stand back, Cap. I'm going to laser the lock—"

Even as he spoke, Steve applied muscle to the door. To his surprise it slid open with a sinister creak.

"Careful," Tony warned him. "Let me go first. That seems—"

Steve ignored him, stepping through into the room beyond. 

"—suspiciously like a trap," Tony finished, with an audible sigh.

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve said, looking about him at a cluttered office space lit by nothing more than a bank of monitors. "No one knows we— Jesus!" There were two uniformed men in the room, one lying on the floor, one slumped over a desk beneath a bank of flickering screens.

"Cap!" Tony's voice was panicked.

Steve opened his mouth to explain, but before he had uttered a single word, Iron Man crashed into the room.

The armour wasn't built for running, and Steve had to leap aside as Iron Man came close to mowing him down, only the use of the repulsors bringing him to a stop. He had to bite his tongue to forebear commenting.

"Jarvis says they’re either asleep or unconscious," Iron Man said, once he had recovered his equilibrium.

Steve was already kneeling beside the man in the floor, feeling for a pulse in his neck. It was strong and steady, if a little slow.

"Alive, certainly," he said, as he lifted the man in his arms and carried him over to a cot almost hidden in the corner of the room. Laying him on the mattress, he adjusted him into the recovery position. "And unconscious, otherwise they would have certainly woken up when you clanked in."

"Hey, Iron Man does not clank!"

Steve rose to his feet, not the bait. "I don't get this, Tony," he said. "Despite what you say, there's nothing here to steal. And I didn't see any disturbed graves."

"Let's take a look at the closed circuit footage," Tony suggested, folding the Iron Man into a chair, which he wheeled close to the nearest console. Without taking off the gauntlets, he began to type.

Steve left him to it and roamed the room, not sure what he was looking for, but that there would be something.

"Do you think they were spying on us?" he asked, remembering uncomfortably how close he had come to breaking down in Tony's arms yesterday.

"I don't think we were in shot," Tony said, plainly in tune with his thoughts. Neither of them would want those shots out on the net. "Cameras seem to be movement sensitive. Anyway, if there's anything embarrassing on record I'll wipe it."

Satisfied, Steve thought back to their arrival at the cemetery. What had actually happened? He didn't think there had been any other embarrassing moments, but...

Suddenly, he knew what he had been looking for earlier.

There was silence for a while, except for the dull clack of the keyboard. During it, Steve systematically searched the room, growing more and more puzzled as he failed to find what he was looking for.

Tony sat back in the chair, frowning. "That's odd."

"What's odd?

"Jarvis nailed the location of three cameras covering the area around Carter's grave. I thought that was overkill at the time, but only one of them feeds into this security system. As for that one, I don't think I ever came within camera range, either tonight or yesterday afternoon, but there ought to be footage of you laying flowers on the grave and there doesn't seem to be anything at all. Nothing with a time stamp for today, in fact."

Steve leaned over his shoulder. "It's been wiped?"

"It's been wiped."

"You signed us in yesterday afternoon," Steve said, "in an real paper book. I can't find it."

"This is getting creepy," Tony opined.

"This is getting dangerous," Steve corrected. "What did you give as our address? The tower?"

"No. They wanted local. The hotel."

Even as Steve turned the chair on its base so he could see Tony's face, the Iron Man faceplate descended, so that his eyes did not meet the familiar warm brown gaze but the enigmatic glowing slits of the armour. Nevertheless, he was certain that the other man was thinking exactly the same thought.

Steve turned and ran for the door, knowing that Iron Man would be right behind him, even if he hadn't heard the hiss of the servos and the metallic thudding of the boots on the rubber flooring.

All the same, Steve had to wait for him on the threshold. "I get now why you prefer to fly," he said, as he rested a foot on Iron Man's left boot and flung an arm over his shoulders.

"Just had an idea about that," Tony's voice said in his earbud as they lifted off. "Roller skates, or perhaps roller blades. Maybe I could adjust the repulsors to make wheels..."

"Now that I have to see," Steve said, as they skimmed through the swirling fog, which would hide them from prying eyes. No doubt the Iron Man sensors allowed Tony to steer accurately. A stray thought caused him to ask, "Can you actually roller skate, Tony?"

"Never got a chance to try – but how hard can it be?"

"Oh boy! Well, guess you're gonna find out."

The top floor of the hotel – the twin penthouse suites – loomed up out of the mist.

"Remember to hack the alarm. We don't want to wake anyone," Steve said as he leaped down to land lightly amid the plant containers on the roof terrace outside Tony's suite. He was already reaching for the handle of the French doors when Tony's urgent voice snapped over his earbud, "Cap! Wait!"

Steve stopped dead. He did not turn, but instead watched the reflection of Iron Man in the glass as he hovered inches above the stone terrace.

" _All_ the hotel's alarms have already been disabled," Tony went on. "Remember the last time one of us went through a window into a room that had been booby-trapped?”

"You think SHIELD is behind all this?" Steve asked, keeping his voice to a whisper. He was remembering his feeling of panic when the explosion in his old apartment had blinded Tony and flooded the room with a gas would have killed him if he had not been in the Iron Man suit.

"No. All the indicators suggest this is tied in somehow to Peggy's grave, maybe to her death, and we're only here because Sharon Carter – if that's her real name – told us the location of the grave. And I doubt very much that she or Romanoff would have spilled that without Fury's say so."

"I remember you telling me that even his secrets have secrets."

"We have a few of our own. But Fury isn't the only one who can set traps. Let me go first. I have the protection of this metal suit." 

Before today, Steve would have probably snorted and ignored him, careless of his own safety and impatient with any suggestion of caution from the notably reckless Tony Stark. But everything had changed: not his feelings, but the knowledge that Tony reciprocated them, that he – that they – had a chance to make something together.

And the knowledge that Tony worried about him warmed him far more than it should...

He had hesitated for too long. Iron Man gripped his arms and lifted him up through the air, setting him down behind the wall that concealed the elevator machine rooms and the entrance to the access stairs, all of which were undoubtedly locked tight.

"Tony, you bastard!"

"Such language," came the response, as Iron Man somersaulted in the air above the parapet in imitation of a trademark Captain America move and vanished behind it. "Your parents would be so proud." The words in his were followed by a crash of glass. "Oops."

Steve flung himself at the hatch to the access stairs which, as he had anticipated – and as Tony had also no doubt anticipated – was locked. What's more, it was a metal hatch and an extremely stout lock, no doubt installed to keep burglars away from whatever fancy stuff the guests had brought with them.

"Iron Man, report!" Steve snarled as he broke the lock with the edge of his shield.

"Power's out all over the building but Jarvis says there's some sort of knockout gas being fed through the air conditioning so you'd better be— whoa!"

The building trembled and the white flash of repulsors lit the sky like sheet lightning.

Steve hurtled through the hatch and down the concrete stairs as the voice in his ear said, "Stay back, Cap. We have intruders and—"

As Tony's voice cut out abruptly, Steve reached the first landing, slammed his shield against the emergency door and burst through into the lobby of Tony's suite where Iron Man was down and struggling to get to his feet as a man wearing yellow, who seemed to be phasing in and out of sight, leaned down to press something metallic and vaguely gun-shaped against his helmet.

Steve hurled his shield, slicing through the presumed weapon. The shield then bounced off the far wall, seriously damaging the plaster, and came flying back towards his hand even as he ran towards Iron Man. Only, before it reached his grasp, it struck something in what otherwise seemed like empty air. There was a shout of pain and something crashed to the floor, but Steve had no time to investigate that, because Iron Man was pivoting on his hips, his legs knocking those of his attacker out from under him.

In a single stride was Steve was on them, releasing his frustration in a blow to the side of the (still flickering) intruder's head, in a visible moment. Below him, a repulsor whined, flashed, stuttered and flashed again, and another yellow clad man suddenly appeared out of thin air as he flew through the air and hit the wall.

Steve grinned to himself as he bent down to help Iron Man to his feet.

The arc reactor was flickering. Steve's heart skipped in sympathy – and fear. Then "EMP," Iron Man's distorted voice said. "Just glanced... shoulder plate." There was a moment's pause, presumably as Tony gathered breath. "Christ, that was powerful. Thanks for putting him down."

The reactor was glowing steadily now, and the suit's eye-slits were bright with power. Steve wished he could see Tony's eyes behind them, to judge if he was telling the complete truth.

Then it didn't matter; the door to Tony's suite and the interior door to the lounge were standing open, giving a view all the way through to the French doors onto the roof terrace, and it was beyond them that an indeterminate dark shape was rising out of the fog.

"They're making a getaway."

"Not if I can help it!" Iron Man took off, shot through both doors and shattered the French doors before following the aircraft into the black sky.

Steve ran forward onto the terrace to watch the bright dots of light that marked his flight.

There was a sharp crack, which Steve instantly recognised as a detonator. He half turned, to see a wall of flame bellowing towards him.

On instinct, he spun, and hurled himself towards the roof edge. The heat beat at his back, right through the fire resistant armour Tony had built for him. His right foot hit the parapet and propelled him out and down.

Just before he fell beneath the fog, he saw tiny white balls of repulsor energy strike the aircraft—

Then he was engulfed in fog reddened by fire. Twisting in the air, he tucked himself into a ball. If he had managed to clear the strip of garden, the lake would be below him...

Ghostly masts loomed to his right, so he rolled to his left, hoping to miss both the boats and the hotel pier. He just hoped that that meant the water was deep... a few feet at least...

He hit the surface hard, driving all the breath from his body, and went deep into cold water.

Time froze, along with his heartbeat and every muscle.

Once again, he was dying in the Arctic Ocean.

Panic gripped him. As his feet hit mud, he kicked out frantically, arms and legs flailing in desperate attempt to reach the surface.

It seemed like hours before cold, murky air replaced cold, muddy water.

Coughing up both and then fighting to catch his breath in the thick fog, he trod water and tried to get his bearings, but his face started to sting painfully. He took a couple of deep breaths and ducked under the water which was already soothing the rest of his heat-scorched skin. It had also, probably, put out a few flames.

It hurt, but the pain was bearable.

Just.

Disorientated, he raised his head and peered through the blanket of fog, unable to discern where the shore might be. Or, to be honest, and if it hadn't been for gravity, where the sky was. "Iron Man?" he asked into his com. Then, when there was no response, " _Tony?_ "

Perhaps the comms were out. Perhaps his own hearing had been affected by the explosion. Perhaps the fog's dampening effect was stronger than he thought it should be. Or perhaps Tony was dead. In which case, he might as well stop treading water and let himself go down again.

_Stop that defeatist thinking, Rogers._

Okay. What now? Despite the pea-souper – a description that stabbed at his heart because he had learned it from Peggy, Peggy who had drowned in this very lake – he had to be close to the shore. Not to mention the hotel pier and the boats moored to it, but he was darned if he could see any of them. Or the lights of the hotels and houses, which had been so obvious earlier. No moon or stars to give him a direction, either. Nor could he see the glow from the fire, though he could smell smoke in the air, turning the fog into smog.

All of which was familiar from his childhood, from London back in the war...

Had Peggy died on a night like this, in too-familiar weather, darkness and silence?

Steve pushed the thought aside. Unless he had suddenly developed new super-powers, he ought to be within a few strokes of safety. The question remained: which way did that safety lie?

He chose a direction at random, let his face down into the water again, and counted twenty-five strokes.

Still no sign of anything except water and fog.

He carefully turned what he hoped was one hundred and eighty degrees and swam back along his previous path.

Possibly.

Because the fog was desperately disorientating. For all he knew, he was swimming in a circle.

Forty, maybe fifty strokes this time to take him past his starting point and as far again away from it. Each one stretched his burnt skin painfully. He didn't think he was bleeding, though and, anyways, it was not as if there were any sharks in the lake. At least when he'd crashed in the Arctic Ocean he'd had the Red Skull's plane to keep the sharks, or maybe polar bears, at bay.

Twenty-six... twenty-seven... twenty-eight...

Maybe it would have been better never to be found, because he couldn't bear to have his chance of happiness snatched away a second time...

Thirty-seven.... thirty-eight—

_Where the hell am I?_

Forty-eight... forty-nine... 

His hand struck something, which moved away from him. He stopped, bringing his body upright to tread water – and his feet hit bottom. His ankles were tangled in something, but when he stood up the water only came halfway up his chest. A step forward and he could grasp the broken branch, floating in the water, which was undoubtedly what he had hit.

_Must be close to shore. Please let it be the shore..._

He pushed forwards, feeling resistance from the water – perhaps from a current – and from the thick mud laced with twigs beneath his feet. His back – and his ears – had started hurting again now they were out of the water, but he was used to ignoring pain.

His progress became slower and slower as he ploughed through a morass of dead rushes and weeds— and ran into a tangle of branches. Peering between them, he could see a wall of mud that rose above his head, covered in scrub and crowned with a line of trees that looked as if they were about to topple on his head.

Yes, he was on the shoreline, he decided, crushing the thought that this might be an island. But it wasn't an exactly helpful shoreline, and there was no way he could get ashore at this point.

He turned left and continued to wade, following the shoreline until, quite suddenly, the mud cliff dipped into a creek.

_Thank God._

Steve scrambled upstream, fighting his way through the overhanging branches, until he was in water just a few inches deep. Only then did he let himself fall forward, then rolled onto his back. The relief brought by the cold water almost turned him dizzy.

At least he wasn't going to drown after all.

There were bright lights flashing through the fog above him. Steve lifted himself out of the stream on his elbows, ready to fight if this turned out to be the enemy, whoever the enemy might be.

Iron Man dropped through the tree canopy, smashing branches and scattering dead leaves before he landed, in his trademark down-on-one-knee position, on the bank of the creek. "So this is where you've been hiding. Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Bit scorched," Steve said, blinking in the blinding light of the ARC reactor and the repulsors, trying to mask the fact that he was shaking with relief.

"Stay in the water for the moment," Tony advised. "Best thing for burns. No doubt the serum's healing factor is going to deal with them, but why not give it a helping hand."

"The hotel? The guests and staff?" Steve asked.

Tony had raised the Iron Man faceplate and was examining Steve with anxious brown eyes. "Everyone's fine, if still asleep. Not that there were many originally. It's the off-season, remember. Only three suites were occupied, excluding us. A dozen staff. Between me and the fire-fighters – mainly me – they're all out and safe. And the sprinklers dealt with the fire, though you can't stop fire-fighters letting loose with the hoses, particularly when they've got such a ready water source. It's pretty much out though the top floor's a mess, mainly from the water. The bill for this one is gonna be a doozy."

Steve found himself grinning, as much with relief as amusement. "Which you're going to pick up?" 

"Why should you think that? They have insurance. Actually, I may buy the place. They wouldn't normally allow us back, but I have a fondness for the penthouse suites. Good memories," he added, with a theatrical leer.

It drained all the tension out of Steve. He said, "If I get pneumonia, it's your fault."

"If you were going to get pneumonia you would have got it in the Arctic Ocean." Tony was looking anywhere but at Steve. There was something in his voice that alarmed Steve, but before he could identify it, Tony was continuing, "Think you're up to a short flight?"

"Guess so."

"Come on then." Iron Man held out a gauntleted hand. Steve took it, covering a wince as he was helped to his feet.

And moved into Iron Man's metal embrace. Then Tony was kissing him; half angry, half tender, all desire.

It almost made everything worth it.

Steve gave himself up totally to the kiss, to the taste of Tony's mouth, the press of his lips and tongue, the scratch of his beard, the hard scrape of the edges of the Iron Man helmet...

It was Tony who broke the kiss. "Christ, that wasn't the best idea..."

Steve's heart abruptly hit the bottom of the creek. "Oh. Why not?"

"The armour has some unexpected design flaws," Tony said, with a grimace. "No room for a full-on hard-on in the suit."

"Should have made the cod-piece bigger," Steve said, grinning, as his heartbeat picked up again. He felt vaguely light-headed from relief.

"Didn't want to brag too much," Tony replied. So Steve kissed him again. "Ouch. This is a new form of torture, I need a safeword."

"I seem to recall something about 'no'."

"I'll never say 'no' to you. I found your shield, by the way," Tony went on, moving to rest his forehead against Steve's. Though his face was hidden, he was shaking slightly, and his voice totally failed to hide his emotions as he said, "It's a bit scorched. Will need a new paint job."

 _He thought I was dead,_ Steve realised. _Burned to death... and I nearly was. But I can't admit that._

"I'm hard to kill," he said.

"I know." Tony took a deep breath. "I know. Let's get you to a doctor all the same."

Seconds later, they were in the air.


End file.
